Eyes try to open after surgery
a strange goop in them prevents this.
I try to yell I’m awake,
but the ventilator down my throat stops me.
I reach up to pull it out
but my hands are tied,
to stop me from doing just this.
Eventually, a nurse notices.
My hands untied
The ventilator removed
The substance wiped out of my eyes
I lie on the bed
waiting for the doctor to tell me
I can go home
until treatment has to continue.
Chemotherapy, the second step in treatment.
Nurse pokes me with needles
until she strikes a vein.
Sitting and waiting
while poison courses through my veins.
They call it chemotherapy
and tell me it is making me better.
I watch my hair fall out.
I roll over in bed and throw up.
I am too tired to sit.
Better, I think,
Radiation, the last step in treatment.
A clear plastic mask
to strap me to the table,
straight out of a medieval torture room.
cold and hard.
lead, so stray radiation does no damage.
I am fastened to the table with my mask.
“Lie still, this will only take a minute” they tell me.
Technicians leave the room,
and I hear nothing as the machine works.
A technician enters the room.
“You are finished” they tell me.
Treatment is over.
Refined by the trip through hell,
new appreciations for life arise.
A strength within discovered,
to carry me through future struggles.
The waiting over,
No more restraints,
No more poison,
No more radiation.
Appreciative to those before me,
Who didn’t make it.
Their passing was not in vein.
They made it so that I could survive.
Created: Mar 07, 2010Document Media